- DANCER OF GOR, Pg. 32 - 33
A New Slave is made to Dance
"Samos then signaled to the musicians, who were seated to one side, that
they should prepare to play.
Samos signaled again to the musicians, and they began to play a sensual, slow,
adagio melody.
Samos glanced at the dancer.
I, too glanced at her. She was not trained. She did not know slave dance.
Her movements were those of a virgin, a white-silk girl. She had not yet been
taught sleave helplessness. No man yet in his arms had taught her the exquisite,
transforming degradations of the utilized slave, the wrenching surrender spasms,
enforced upon her by his will, of the conquered bondswoman, experiences which,
once she has had them, she is never willing to give up, experiences which
she comes to need, experiences for which she will do anything, experiences
which, whether she wishes it or not, put her at and keep her at, the mercy
of men.
'She, is clumsy,' said Samos. He was irritated. I saw he did not wish, really,
to have her killed.
A man laughed at her, as she tried to dance before him. 'Her throat will be
cut within the Ahn,' laughed another man. Another man turned away from her,
when she approached him, to have his goblet of paga filled by a luscious,
half-naked, collared slave.
'Clumsy, clumsy,' said Samos. 'I thought she might have the makings, somehow,
of a pleasure slave.'
'She is trying,' I said.
'She does not have what it takes,' said Samos.
'Her body is richly curved,' I said. 'That suggests an abundance of female
hormones, and that, in turn, suggests the potentialities, the capacities for
love, the sensibilities, the dispositions of the pleasure slave.'
'She is not acceptable,' said Samos. 'She is inadequate.'
'She is trying desperately to please,' I said.
'But she is not succeeding,' he said.
'She has a lovely body,' I said. 'Perhaps someone could buy her for a pittance,
for a pot girl.'
'She is not adequate,' said Samos. 'I will have to have her destroyed.'
'Dance, you stupid slave,' hissed one. 'Do you not know you are a slave? Do
you not know you are owned?'
A wild look, one of sudden, fearful insight, came over the face of the dancer.
She had not thought, specifically, objectively, it seemed, about this aspect
of matters. But, of course, she was owned. She was now property. She could
now be bought and sold, like a tarsk, at the pleasure of masters.
'Dance, fool!' cried one of the slave girls to the former Lady Rowena of Lydius.
'See the free woman!' laughed one of the slaves. 'It is the sleen for her,'
said another.
'Please men!' cried another. 'What do you think you are for?'
She who had been the Lady Rowena fell sobbing to her knees, helpless on the
tiles, covering her face with her hands. The music stopped.
'With your permission,' I said to Samos. I rose to my feet and went to the
girl, now prone, red-eyed, on the tiles. I crouched down beside her.
I turned her over, handling her with authority, as a slave is handled. She
looked up at me.
Never before, doubtless, had she been handled like this. 'Her face is beautiful,'
I said, 'her body is curvaceous, her limbs are fair. It seems she should bring
a good price.' She gasped, appraised as a female.
'Men desire women,' I told her.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'And you belong to that sex,' I said, 'which is maddeningly, exquisitely desirable.'
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'And you are,' I said, 'I think, objectively, a beautiful member of that sex.'
'Thank you, Master,' she whispered.
'It therefore seems not inconceivable that men might find you desirable.'
'Yes, Master,' she whispered.
'Does that please you?' I asked.
'It terrifies me,' she said.
'Do you have normal feelings toward men?' I asked.
'I think so, Master,' she said. 'Now that you are a slave,' I said, 'it is
not only permissible for you to yield to these feelings, but you must do so.'
'Master!' she whispered.
'Yes,' I said, 'for you are now a slave.'
'Yes, Master,' she whispered, shuddering.
'That makes quite a difference, doesn't it?' I asked.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
'She does not have slave reflexes,' said a man.
'We are now going to put these things together,' I said. 'First, you are an
exquisitely desirable woman. You are the sort of woman who could drive a man
mad with passion. You are the sort of woman to possess whom men might kill.
Furthermore, your beauty and desirability is increased a thousand fold because
you are a property girl, a slave.'
'Yes, Master,' she whispered. 'Oh, Master!'
'Men are now of even greater interest to you, are they not?' I asked.
'Yes, Master!' she wept.
'Now,' I said, 'second, let us consider things from the point of view of the
woman, from your point of view.'
'As a slave,' I said, 'it is not only permissible for you to yield to your
deepest, most stirring, most primitive, most overwhelmingly feminine urges
but you must do so, shamelessly, unqualifiedly, completely.'
'Yes, Master,' she cried, and thrust herself suddenly, piteously, against
my hand. I then, by the hair, pulled her about and threw her lengthwise, prone,
to the tiles. She looked up at me, over her shoulder. I saw wildness in her
eyes. I saw that she had begun to sense what it might be to be an aroused
slave.
'Whip,' I said, to a man. The whip was placed in my hand.
'Master?' asked the girt, apprehensively.
'I do not believe you were given permission to stop dancing earlier,' I said.
'No, Master,' she said.
'As you are a stupid girl and new to your condition, your punishment, this
time, will be light. Three lashes.'
'Three!' she sobbed.
"Do not expect masters to be so lenient with your stupidity in the future,'
I said.
'No, Master,' she wept.
Then, doubtless for the first time in her life, she who had been the proud
free woman, the Lady Rowena of Lydius, naked, and on her belly on the tiles,
felt, like the common girl she now was, the slave whip of Gor.
'Stand,' I told her. 'Back straight, belly in, breasts out. Lift your hands
to your shoulders, flex your knees.'
'I have been whipped,' she said, disbelievingly.
'See the difference?' said a man to another at his table. 'How she stands?'
'Yes,' said the other.
I touched her here and there, with the whip, deftly, correcting a line, or
the tension of a curve. She shrank back from the touch of the whip. She now
knew what it could to do to her. She had felt it. After, a girl has once felt
the whip the mere sight of it is usually enough to bring her immediately into
line. 'What hangs upon the wall?' a master might ask. 'The slave whip, Master,'
she responds. 'How may I be more pleasing?'
I handed the whip back to the fellow who had had it, and returned to my place
at the table of Samos.
He signaled the musicians, and they began, again, to play.
I saw that it was a slave who danced before the men. She gyrated but inches
from a burly oarsman, then leaped back, eluding his drunken grasp. She moved
between the tables, a slave, an owned woman. Then she was kneeling beside
a man, kissing and caressing him, and then, as though it were involuntary,
as though her hands were tied behind her and she was being pulled back, away
from him, by a rope, she retreated from him. In a moment she was showering
another man with her hair and kisses. Then she offered a man wine, holding
the goblet, pressing it Against her belly, swaying sensuously before him.
She was then again in the center of the tiles, among the tables. She made
as if to speak, and then, suddenly, stopped, as though startled. Then she
took a wad of her long, golden hair and, swiftly balling it, thrust it, as
though insolently, in her mouth. She then looked at the men reproachfully.
It was as though a man, perhaps not desiring to hear her speak, had gagged
her with her own hair. There was laughter. She drew the hair from her mouth,
drawing some of it, in loosening it, deeply back between her teeth, with her
head back, as though she might have been in the constraint of a gag strap,
all this to the music, and then her hair was free, and, with a movement of
her head and movements of her hands, beautifully, she draped and spread it
about her. It seemed then she withdrew modestly, frightened, behind the hair,
drawing it like a cloak or sheet about her, as though by means of this piteous
device she might hope desperately to conceal at least some minimal particle
of her beauty from the rude scrutiny of masters. But it was not to be permitted.
To a swirl of music, taking her hair to the sides, holding it, parting it,
with clenched fists thrust behind her, twisting, her body thrust forward,
her beauty was suddenly, it seemed as though by command, or by the action
of another, brazenly based. 'Good!' said more than one man. There was a striking
of shoulders in Gorean applause. Even some of the slave girls cried out with
pleasure. The girl had done it well. Then she was again dancing among the
tables. Her movements gave much pleasure. She entertained well. If Samos had
known she would prove this good he might have put her in bells or a chain.
I doubted that some of the things she had done, in all their abundance and
richness, had been merely thought up on the spur of the moment. I suspected
that many times in her dreams and fantasies she had danced thus before men,
as a slave. Then, lo, one night in Port Kar she found herself truly a slave,
and so dancing, and for her life.
As the music neared its climax she returned before our table, dancing desperately
and pleadingly. It was there that was to be found her master.
She lowered herself to the floor and there, on her knees, and her sides, and
her belly and back, continued her dance.
Men cried out with pleasure.
Floor movements are among the most stimulatory aspects of slave dance. I regarded
her. She was not bad. She was, of course, not trained. A connoisseur of slave
dance, I suppose, might have pointed out errors in the pointing of a toe,
the extension of a limb, the use of a hand, not well framing the body, not
subtly inviting the viewer's eye inward, and so on, but, on the whole, she
was definitely not bad. Given her lack of training, a lack which could, of
course, be easily remedied, she was not bad, really. Much of what she did,
I suppose, is instinctual in a woman. Too, of course, she was dancing for
her life.
She writhed well, an utterly helpless, begging slave. Then the music was finished
and she was before us, kneeling, her head down, in submission to Samos. She
lifted her head to regard Samos, her master. She searched his face fearfully,
for the least sign of her fate. It was he who would decide whether she would
live or die.
'For the moment, at least,' said Samos, 'you will not be thrown to sleen.'"
- PLAYERS OF GOR, Pg. 19 - 28
A Virgin Dance
"There are some three senses of the expression 'virgin dance' on Gor.
There is a sense in which it is a kind of dance, rather than a particular
dance, which is deemed appropriate for virgins. In that sense I was not expected
to perform a 'virgin dance.' One would seldom see such dances in taverns.
The second sense is the obvious one in which it is a dance danced by a virgin,
and usually just prior to the loss of her virginity. In that sense it could
be almost any dance which serves the purpose of displaying the girl before
her initial ravishing. The third sense of the term is that of a specific dance,
or type of dance, most often, interestingly, not even danced by a virgin,
but usually by an experienced slave. It is not exactly a story dance, but
more of an emotional or attitudinal piece, more in the nature of a 'role dance,'
a dance in which the slave dances as though she might be a virgin, but knows
she is to be ravished, and that she is expected to be pleasing. The dance
I was expected to perform was, I suppose, a 'virgin dance' in both the second
and third senses of the term. Mirus, paradoxically, speaking obviously in
the third sense of the term, had told me that I would do better at this sort
of dance when I was no longer a virgin.
I felt metal anklets being thrust on my ankles by Tupita and Sita, They put
several on each ankle. They then, similarly, placed narrow bracelets on both
my wrists, several on each wrist. A long belt of cord, to which were attached
numerous metal disks, suspended and shimmering, was then looped twice about
me, the first loop secured high, and tight, at my waist, and the second loop,
a larger loop, a framing loop, was secured in such a way, in the back, that
it would hang quite low on my belly, well below my navel. The purpose of this
belt was to call attention to, and enhance, by sound and sight, the movements
of the hips and abdomen. With the slave beads I already wore I felt inutterably
displayed, and barbaric. I could not move now without the sounds of the beads,
the anklets and bracelets, the shimmering belt with its two loops.
I stood before them with my hands lifted over my head, the backs of my hands
facing one another, my knees flexed. It is a common beginning position in
slave dance.
The musicians readied themselves.
I looked out on the men. These were not men of Earth, defeated and tamed by
propaganda and lies. These were Gorean men, men like lions. I stood before
them, weak and helpless, a woman from Earth, now a collared slave who must
dance for their pleasure.
The czehar player, sitting cross-legged, now had his instrument across his
lap. He was the leader of the musicians. He had his horn pick in hand.
I stood barefoot, naked, save for collar and adornments, on the dancing floor
of a low-ceilinged Gorean tavern. I must prepare to please masters.
I looked out on the men. One of them would be my first use master. In a special
sense my 'virgin dance' must be dedicated to him. But, in general, I must
dance, too, before the guests of Hendow's tavern, and, too, before all who
were present.
In the dance I had power. In the dance I was beautiful. I saw delight in the
eyes of men. I heard gasps of admiration. To be sure I was of a body type,
that of the natural woman, short-legged and well-curved, that tends to be
attractive to Gorean men, and I think my face, which some had told me was
delicate and sensitive, and lovely and intelligent, which so easily betrayed
my emotions, may have been pleasing to them, but I think there was more to
it than these things. Had it been merely a matter of face and figure I do
not think the effect would have been the same. Many things were doubtless
involved. One, of course, was that it was a slave who danced. The dancing
of a slave is a thousand times more sensuous than that of a free woman because
of the incredible meanings involved, the additional richness which this furnishes,
the explosive significance of this comprehension, that she who dances is owned,
and, theoretically, could be owned by you. Too, she is naked, or scantily
clad, and is bedecked in a barbaric manner. This speaks of reality and savagery,
of ferocity, and beauty and barbarism, and of the fundamental meaningfulness
of the male/female relationship, that of power and ferocity to beauty, of
dominator to dominated, of master to slave. The dancing of the female before
the male, that she be found pleasing and he be pleased, is one of the most
profound lessons in all of human biology. Others are when she kneels before
him, when she kisses his feet, when she performs obeisance, when she know
herself subject, truly, to his whip. Another is when she is seized in his
arms, imperiously, and crushed to him. Too, I think in this dance I was also
as successful as I was because of the sort of woman I was, one who possessed
deep female needs, and profound passions. I was ready, even at that time,
as I now realize, to have the relentless torches of men set to the tinder
in my belly, that slave fires might be lit there, thence by service, submission
and love, my condition as slave, and the commands and touches of men, to be
fanned, whether I willed it or not, to my dismay and joy, into open conflagrations.
But I think, too, more simply, that there are skills involved, and that I
was an excellent dancer, even at that time.
I danced, as the slave I was.
'Here, slut, here!' called more than one man.
I teased them, dancing close to them, swaying, my belly alive for them, with
the jangling metal pieces, the anklets clashing on my ankles, the bracelets
sliding and ringing on my wrists, and then, as they attempted to seize me,
drew back, backing away, or whirled, with a swirl of beads, away from them.
I picked one man after another out of the audience, seeming to dance my beauty
most meaningfully to him. Perhaps he would be my use master. I did not know.
Several began to keep the time with their hands, clapping them together.
'She is not a virgin,' said a man.
'No,' said another.
I came about then to the back of the dancing floor. Tupita, and the others
were there. 'You are good,' said Tupita to me, grudgingly.
'I am superb,' I said to her, angrily. Then I added, hastily, 'Mistress!'
I looked to the back of the tavern, where, near the beaded curtain, stood
Hendow, my Master, his arms folded. I swayed before him. I wanted to convince
him that he had not made a mistake in purchasing me. I saw in his eyes that
I had much to learn. I moved a little to my left, dancing before Mirus, who
crouched there at the back of the floor, the sack of tarsk bits heavy at his
belt.
'Do not change anything,' he said to me, 'but I would have thought you would
dance rather more like a virgin.'
I whirled away from him, to my right. Yes, I thought to myself, what are you
doing, Doreen? What has gotten into you? Why are you doing this? Why is your
belly so alive? Why are you so excited? Why is your body so hot? Why is it
moving like this? You are dancing more like a purchasable slut, a common girl
from a market, a girl who has been well taught by men and the whip the meaning
of her collar, one who has already learned to whimper behind the bars of her
kennel and scratch at its walls, than a virgin, fearing, but curious about,
her first taking.
'Look,' said a man.
'Superb,' said another.
I did not think Mirus would mind if I changed my performance in this fashion,
particularly, as I would, later, return to the taunting, sensate splendors
of the aroused woman, and then, at the end, to the helpless pleading of the
begging female, she who knows herself, ultimately, at the mercy of masters.
Actresses need only be actresses. They need not be dancers. But she who is
a dancer must be more than a dancer. She must be an actress, as well.
'Ah, yes,' said a man.
Suddenly in my dance it seemed I was a virgin, reluctant and fearful, terrified
in the reality in which she found herself, but knowing she must respond to
the music, to those heady, sensuous rhythms, to the wild cries of the flute,
to the beating of the drum. I then danced timidity, and reluctance and inhibition,
but yet reflecting, as one would, in such a situation, the commands of the
music. I examined in dismay the beads about my neck, the cords at my waist,
my barbarically adorned ankles and wrists. I touched my thighs, and lifted
my arms, looking at them, and put my hands upon my body, as though I could
not believe that it was unclothed. I pretended to shrink down within myself,
to desire to crouch down, and conceal and cover my nudity, but then I straightened
up, fearfully, as though I had heard commands to desist in such absurdities,
and then I extended my hands to the sides, to various sides, as though pleading
for mercy, to be released from the imperatives of the music, but then reacted,
drawing back, as though I had seen the sight of whips or weapons. The kaska
player, alert to this, reduced the volume of his drumming, and then, five
times, smote hard upon the taut skin, almost like the cracking of a whip,
to which I reacted, turning to one side and another, as though such a disciplinary
device had been sounded menacingly, on all sides, in my vicinity, and then
I continued to dance, helpless before the will of masters. Then, as the dance
continued, I signified by expression and movement my curiosity and fascination
with what I was being forced to do, and the responses of my body, reconciled
now to its reality, helplessly obedient now to the music. I am a basically
shy person. But now I was dancing such things as shyness, and timidity, and
fear, and curiosity, and fascination, as roles. Like many shy persons I can
find myself in roles, and blossom forth in them.
I suddenly by expression and movement, an almost involuntary contortion of
my belly, seemingly startling me, and frightening me, appeared to suddenly
sense, or glimpse, my sexuality.
'Ah,' said a man, appreciatively.
I approached him in the dance, and then others, my belly seeming to register,
with its jangling accouterments, their presence. Each time I would draw back
from them, but my belly, my hips, would seem to propel me again toward them,
or toward yet another. I then felt my hips, and thighs, and breasts, and belly,
as these seemed to come alive in the music. And then, throwing my head back,
I danced unabashedly as an acknowledged, aroused slave, much as I had before,
taunting them, teasing them, delighting in my power, but then, suddenly, as
though I sensed my ultimate helplessness, my ultimate inability to achieve
total fulfillment without the wholeness of sexuality, without the master and
the yielding, which gave meaning to the incipient passions within me, I danced
the aroused slave who is the property of the master and begs his touch.
'Good,' said a fellow.
'The slut is excellent,' said another.
Then I realized suddenly that I was actually aroused. The interior of my thighs
were hot. My belly, hot and burning, seemed to beg to be touched. I do not
know, really, whether I had done this to myself in the dance, which is possible,
or if my arousal had merely came upon me in the course of the dance, but I
was aroused. I was a helpless, aroused slave! This now was no role. It was
what I was.
I returned to the back of the dancing floor, piteously, that I might sway
before my master, he in the back, by the beaded curtain, gross, loathsome
Hendow. He, I felt, of all those in the tavern, would understand what was
now within me. I felt I could keep no secrets from him. It seemed he had a
way of looking through me, and seeing whatever was within me, no matter how
I might try to hide it. But I did not want to hide this from him. Rather I
wanted his understanding. I wanted him to offer me comfort, or perhaps even
rescue me from the floor. In my fears it was natural that I should seek him
out, gross and loathsome though he might be. He was the one who owned me.
He was my master.
Hendow nodded to me, almost imperceptibly. Then, pointing to me, and lifting
his finger twice, he indicated I should turn away, and return to my dance,
in the center of the floor, facing the crowd.
I knew the music was approaching climax, and the dance must be concluded.
I then, in the coda of my performance, danced helplessness and beauty, and
submission, surrendering myself as I, in my collar, must, into the hands and
mercies of masters.
As, the music concluded I performed floor movements, and the eyes of the men
blazed, and fists pounded on the tables, and then the music was done and I
lay before them on my back, my breasts rising and falling as I fought for
breath, my body sheened with sweat, my hands beside me, palms up, my knees
lifted slightly, my right knee highest, a slave before masters. I heard roars
of triumph, shouts of pleasure. I was frightened. The men were on their feet.
There was a thunder of applause, the striking of the shoulders in the Gorean
fashion, and, too, the crashing of goblets on the tables."
- DANCER OF GOR, Pg. 190 - 196
A Tile Dance
"The tile dance is commonly performed on red tiles, usually beneath the
slave ring of the master's couch. The girl performs the dance on her back,
her stomach and sides. Usually her neck is chained to the slave ring. The
dance signifies the restlessness, the misery, of a love-starved slave girl.
It is a premise of the dance that the girl moves and twists, and squirms,
in her need, as if she is completely alone, as if her need is known only to
herself; then, supposedly, the master surprises her, and she attempts to suppress
the helplessness and torment of her needs; then, failing this, surrendering
her pride in its final shred, she writhes openly, piteously, before him, begging
him to deign to touch her. Needless to say, the entire dance is observed by
the master, and this, in fact, of course, is known to both the dancer and
her audience, the master. The tile dance, for simple psychological and behavioral
reasons, having to do with the submission context and the motions of the body,
can piteously arouse even a captured, cold free woman; in the case of a slave,
of course, it can make her scream and sob with need."
- EXPLORERS OF GOR, Pg. 13 - 14
A Girl is Trained to Dance
"'Yes, pretty Alyena,' I said to her, 'I will have you taught to dance,
for in your belly is slave fire.'
Alyena, in dancing, sensed the power of Ibn Saran. It is not difficult for
a female dancer, lightly clad, displaying her beauty, to detect where among
those who watch her lies power. I am not sure precisely how this is done.
Doubtless, to some extent, it has to do with richness of raiment. But even
more, I suspect, it has to do with the way in which they hold their bodies,
their assurance, their eyes, as they, as though owning her, observe her. A
woman finds herself looked upon very differently by a man who has power and
one who does not. Instinctively, of course, to be looked upon by a man with
power thrills a woman. They desire, desperately, to please him. This is particularly
true of a slave girl, whose femaleness is most shamelessly and brazenly bared.
Ibn Saran, languid, observed the dancer. His face betrayed no emotion. He,
sipped his hot black wine.
Alyena threw herself to the floor before him, moving to the music. I saw her
turn, and twist, and writhe, and move, and, on her belly, hold out her hand
to him.
Her lessons, which had been intensive, once we had arrived at the Oasis of
Nine Wells, had cost little, and had, in my opinion, much increased her value,
doubling or tripling it. T'he modest cost of the lessons had been, in my opinion,
an excellent investment. My property had now increased, considerably, in value.
But most credit, surely, had to go to the girl herself. With fantastic diligence
had she applied herself to her lessons, and practices. Even so small a thing
as the motion of the wrist she had practiced for hours.
Her teacher was a cafe slave girl, Seleenya, rented, from her master; her
musicians were a flutist, hired early, and, later, a kaska player, to accompany
him.
Once I saw her, naked, covered with sweat and bangles, in the sand.
'Have you had to beat her often?' I asked Seleenya.
'No,' said the slave girl. 'I have never seen a girl so eager,' she said.
'Play,' said I to the musicians.
They played, until I, by lifting a finger, silenced them. At the same time,
too, Alyena froze in the sand, her right hand high, left band low, at her
hip, her head bent to the left, eyes intent on the fingers of her left hand,
as though curious to ' see if they would dare to touch her thigh; then she
broke the pose, and threw back her head, breathing deeply. There was sand
on her ankles and feet; perspiration ran down her body.
I motioned her to her feet. I signaled the musicians. She danced.
I observed her. I thought it not unlikely this slave might stir the interest
o a man of means.
'Resume your practices,' I told her.
The musicians began again, and again the girl danced. It was superb. And it
was incredible. She did not yet know she was a true slave. What a little fool
she was. I watched her move.
She smiled at me, disdainfully. I considered her blond hair, now wild about
her head as, suddenly, she entered into a series of spins. Her gaze focused
to the last moment on a spot across the room from her, and then, suddenly,
on each spin, her head snapped about, and she again found the focus. Then
she finished the spins, and froze, hands over her head, body held high, stomach
in, right leg flexed and extended, toes only touching the floor. Then she
was again in basic position. Her white skin, in itself, in the Tahari, would
bring a good price. Blond hair and blue eyes, too, in this region, made her
a rare specimen. But beyond these trivialities, though of considerable commercial
import, was the fact that she was beautiful, both in face and figure.
Behind me, as I thrust apart the beads, I heard the pounding of the drum,
the kaska, the silence, then the sound, as the flutist, his hands on her body,
to the sound of the drum, instructed the girl in the line-length and intensity
of one of the varieties of pre-abandonment pelvic thrusts.
'Less,' he said. 'Less. There must be more control, more precision. You are
being forced to do this, but you are holding back. You are angry. This must
show in your face.'
'Please do not touch me so, Master,' she said.
"Be silent,' he said to her. 'You are slave.'"
- TRIBESMEN OF GOR, Pg. 100 - 104
A Girl Being Trained in a Chain Dance
"The drummer and the flautist prepared once more to play. The girl in
the long, light chain smiled at me. She, at any rate, was pleased by my response.
A wrist ring was fastened on her right wrist. The long, slender, gleaming
chain was fastened to this and, looping down and up, ascended gracefully to
a wide chain ring on her collar, through which it freely passed, thence descending,
looping down, and ascending, looping up, gracefully, to the left wrist ring.
If she were to stand quietly, the palms of her hands on her thighs, the lower
portions of the chain, those two dangling loops, would have been about at
the level of her knees, just a little higher. The higher portion of the chain,
of course, would be at the collar loop.
The musicians began again to play. There is much that can be done with such
a chain. It was a dancing chain. Its purpose was not to confine the girl but
to allow her to incorporate it in her dance, enhancing the dance with its
movements and beauty. It is, of course, symbolic of her bondage, this adding
fantastic dimensions of significance to the dance. It is not merely a beautiful
woman who dances, but one who can be bought and sold, one who is subject to
male ownership. Too, of course, the wrist rings, and the collar, are truly
locked on her. There is no doubt about it. It is a slave, with all that that
means, who is dancing."
- KAJIRA OF GOR, Pg. 142 - 143
A Port Kar Slave's Chain Dance
"The figure of the woman, swathed in black, heavily veiled, descended
the steps of the slave wagon. Once at the foot of the stairs she stopped and
stood for a long moment. Then the musicians began, the hand-drums first, a
rhythm of heartbeat and flight.
To the music, beautifully, it seemed the frightened figure ran first here
and then there, occasionally avoiding imaginary objects or throwing up her
arms, ran as though through the crowds of a burning city-alone, yet somehow
suggesting the presence about her of hunted others. Now, in the background,
scarcely to be seen, was the figure of a warrior in scarlet cape. He, too,
in his way, though hardly seeming to move, approached, and it seemed that
wherever the girl might flee there was found the warrior. And then at last
his hand was upon her shoulder and she threw back her head and lifted her
hands and it seemed her entire body was wretchedness and despair. He turned
the figure to him and, with both hands, brushed away hood and veil.
There was a cry of delight from the crowd.
The girl's face was fixed in the dancer's stylized moan of terror, but she
was beautiful. I had seen her before, of course, as had Kamchak, but it was
startling still to see her thus in the firelight - her hair was long and silken
black, her eyes dark, the color of her skin tannish.
She seemed to plead with the warrior but he did not move. She seemed to writhe
in misery and try to escape his grip but she did not.
Then he removed his hands from her shoulders and, as the crowd cried out,
she sank in abject misery at his feet and performed the ceremony of submission,
kneeling, lowering the head and lifting and extending the arms, wrists crossed.
The warrior then turned from her and held out one hand.
Someone from the darkness threw him, coiled, the chain and collar.
He gestured for the woman to rise and she did so and stood before him, head
lowered.
He pushed up her head and then, with a click that could be heard throughout
the enclosure, closed the collar - a Turian collar - about her throat. The
chain to which the collar was attached was a good deal longer than that of
the Sirik, containing perhaps twenty feet of length.
Then, to the music, the girl seemed to twist and turn and move away from him,
as he played out the chain, until she stood wretched some twenty feet from
him at the chain's length. She did not move then for a moment, but stood crouched
down, her hands on the chain.
The music had stopped.
Then with a suddenness that almost made me jump and the crowd cry out with
delight the music began again but this time as a barbaric cry of rebellion
and rage and the wench from Port Kar was suddenly a chained she-larl biting
and tearing at the chain and she had cast her black robes from her and stood
savage revealed in diaphanous, swirling yellow Pleasure Silk. There was now
a frenzy and hatred in the dance, a fury even to the baring of teeth and snarling.
She turned within the collar, as the Turian collar is designed to permit.
She circled the warrior like a captive moon to his imprisoning scarlet sun,
always at the length of the chain. Then he would take up a fist of chain,
drawing her each time inches closer. At times he would permit her to draw
back again, but never to the full length of the chain, and each time he permitted
her to withdraw, it was less than the last. The dance consists of serveral
phases, depending on the general orbit allowed the girl by the chain. Certain
of these phases are very slow, in which there is almost no movement, save
perhaps the turning of a head or the movement of a hand; others are defiant
and swift; some are graceful and pleading; each time, as the common thread,
she is drawn closer to the caped warrior. At last his fist was within the
Turian collar itself and he drew the girl, piteous and exhausted, to his lips,
subduing her with his kiss, and then her arms were about his neck and unresisting,
obedient, her head to his chest, she was lifted lightly in his arms and carried
from the firelight."
- NOMADS OF GOR, Pg. 159 - 161
Words On The Common Whip Dance
"There are many whip dances on Gor, of various sorts. In a context of
this sort, presumably not in a tavern, and without music, the girl is expected
to move, writhe and twist seductively before strong men. If she does not do
well enough, if she is insufficiently maddeningly sensuous, the whips fall
not about her, but on her. When one of the men can stand it no longer he orders
her to his mat, where, of course, she must be fully pleasing. If she is not,
then she is whipped until she is. Then, when one man is satisfied, the dance
begins again, and continues in this fashion until all are satisfied, or tire
of the sport."
- KAJIRA OF GOR, Pg. 159 - 157
A Port Cos Slave's Whip Dance
"In the whip dance, though there are various versions of it, depending
on the locality, the girl is almost never struck with the whip, unless, of
course, she does not perform well. When the whip is cracked, however, the
girl will commonly react as though she has been struck. this, conjoined with
the music, and her beauty, and the obvious symbolism of her beauty beneath
total male descipline, can be extremely, powerfully erotic. In an elegant,
civilized context, one of beauty and music, it makes clear and bespeaks the
raw and essential primitives of the ancient, genetic, biological sexual realtionship
of men and women, the theme of dominance and submission, that man is master
by blood and woman is slave by birth.
I turned my attention to the dancer on the floor. She lay now on her back,
one knee lifted, her arms at her sides, palms down, before the brute with
his whip, who towered over her. Her head, too, was turned to the side. Then
she turned her head to face the brute who tyrannized her. She looked deeply
into his eyes. then, delicately, in a graceful gesture, she turned her hands,
putting their backs to the floor, exposing her palms, and the soft flesh of
her palms, to him, indicating her surrender, her submission, her vulnerability
and her readiness.
There was applause, the striking of the left shoulder, from the tables.
The brute then crouched beside her and encircled her neck with the coils of
his whip. He drew her to her knees then before him. She looked up at him,
her neck in the whip coils, his.
There was more applause. Then the brute looked to Policrates, who indicated
a table. He then pulled the girl to her feet and, running her over the tiles,
and then releasing the coils from her neck, threw her stumbling into the arms
of waiting pirates who, with a cry of pleasure, sized her and began to work
their lusty wills upon her. There was more applause, and laughter."
- ROGUE OF GOR, Pg. 191 & 196
A Port Kar Paga Slave's Whip Dance
"I watched the dancing girl of Port Kar writhing on the square if sand
between the tables, under the whips of masters, in a Paga tavern in Port Kar.
It is called the Whip Dance, the dance the girl on the sand danced.
She wore a delicate vest and belt of chains and jewels, with shimmering metal
droplets attached. And she wore ankle rings, and linked slave bracelets, again
with shimmering droplets pendent upon them; and a locked collar, matching.
She danced under ships' lanterns, hanging from the ceiling of he paga tavern,
it located near the wharves bounding the great arsenal.
I heard the snapping of the whips, her cries."
- RAIDERS OF GOR, Pg. 100
A Belt Dance
"I observed Phyllis Robertson performing the belt dance, on love furs
spread between the tables, under the eyes of the Warriors of Cernus and the
members of his staff. The music was wild, a melody of the delta of the Vosk.
The belt dance is a dance developed and made famous by Port Kar dancing girls.
The belt dance is performed with a Warrior. She now writhed on the furs at
his feet, moving as though being struck with a whip. A white silken cord had
been knotted about her waist; in this cord was thrust a narrow rectangle of
white silk, perhaps about two feet long. About her throat, close fitting and
snug, there was a white-enameled collar, a lock collar. She no longer wore
the band of steel on her left ankle.
Phyllis Robertson now lay on her back, and then her side, and then turned
and rolled, drawing up her legs, putting her hands before her face, as though
fending blows, her face a mask of pain, of fear.
The music became more wild.
The dance receives its name from the fact that the girl's head is not suppose
to rise above the Warrior's belt, but only purists concern themselves with
such niceties; wherever the dance is performed, however, it is imperative
that the girl never rise to her feet.
The music now became a moan of surrender, and the girl was on her knees, her
head down, her hands on the ankle of the Warrior, his sandal lost in the unbound
darkness of her hair, her lips to his foot.
In the next phases of the dance the girl knows herself the Warrior's, and
endeavors to please him, but he is difficult to move, and her efforts, with
the music, become ever more frenzied and desperate.
The belt dance was now moving to its climax and I turned to watch Phyllis
Robertson.
Under the torchlight Phyllis Robertson was now on her knees, the Warrior at
her side, holding her behind the small of the back. Her head went farther
back, as her hands moved on the arms of the Warrior, as though once to press
him away, and then again to draw him closer, and her head then touched the
furs, her body a cruel, helpless bow in his hands, and then, her head down,
it seemed she struggled and her body straightened itself until she lay, save
for her head and heels, on his hands clasped behind her back, her arms extended
over her head to the fur behind her. At this point, with a clash of cymbals,
both dancers remained immobile. Then, after this instant of silence under
the torches, the music struck the final note, with a mighty and jarring clash
of cymbals, and the Warrior had lowered her to the furs and her lips, arms
about his neck, sought his with eagerness. Then, both dancers broke apart
and the male stepped back, and Phyllis now stood, alone on the furs, sweating,
breathing deeply, head down."
- ASSASSIN OF GOR, Pg. 185 - 188
A Tether Dance
"I jerked the tether on her throat. This is a tether,' I said, 'It is
to be well incorporated in your dance. You are a tethered slave. Do not forget
it. You may fight the tether, you may love it. It may confine your body, you
may use it to caress your body, an invitation to your master, a surrogate
symbol of his domination of you. You need not dance always on your feet. A
woman can dance beautifully on her knees, moving as little as a hand, or on
her back, or belly or side. In all things do not forget that you are a slave.'
'Are you now commanding me to dance before you?' she asked.
'Yes,' I said, 'you dance now as a commanded slave. And if I am not well pleased
have no fear but what you will be well beaten, if not slain.'
'Yes, Master,' she said.
I then struck my hands together, and, terrified, the girl danced.
She had not been taught the tether dance, one of the most beautiful of the
slave dances of Gor, but she improvised well. Indeed, it was hard to believe
that she had not had training. I am inclined to believe that the need dances
and display dances of the human female may be, at least in their rudiments,
instinctual.
I watched the girl dance. She was quite good.
'Now you are becoming a woman,' I told her. She knelt on one knee, her right;
her left leg was flexed; the tether was taken, in a turn, about her left thigh;
her hands, too, were on her left thigh; her head was down, but turned toward
me; her lip trembled. 'Continue to dance, slave,' I told her.
'Yes, Master,' she said.
I now stood up. My arms were folded.
The girl now was upon her knees at my feet, the tether on her neck slung back
behind her to the slave stake. Still in her dance, she began to lick and kiss
at my body.
I then took her by the upper arms and held her, half lifted from her knees,
before me.
'Please do not whip me,' she begged.
I then, by the upper arms, dragged her to the side of the slave stake. I put
her on her knees there. She looked up at me. 'You danced well as a slave,'
I said.
'Thank you, Master,' she said. She looked up at me, trembling."
- EXPLORERS OF GOR, Pg. 360 - 363
Dance of the Six Thongs
"It was to be the dance of the six thongs.
She slipped the silk from her and knelt before the great table and chair,
between the other tables, dropping her head. She wore five pieces of metal,
her collar and locked rings on her wrists and ankles. Slave bells were attached
to the collar and the rings. She lifted her head, and regarded me. The musicians,
to one side, began to play. Six of my men, each with a length of binding fiber,
approached her. She held her arms down, and a bit to the sides. The ends of
six lengths of binding fiber, like slave snares, were fastened on her, one
for each wrist and ankle, and two about her waist; the men, then, each holding
the free end of a length of fiber, stood about her, some six or eight feet
from her, three on a side. She was thus imprisoned among them, each holding
a thong that bound her.
Sandra then, luxuriously, catlike, like a woman awakening, stretched her arms.
There was laughter.
It was as though she did not know herself bound.
When she went to draw her arms back to her body there was just the briefest
instant in which she could not do so, and she frowned, looked annoyed, puzzled,
and then was permitted to move as she wished.
I laughed.
She was superb.
Then, still kneeling, she raised her hand, head back, insolently to her hair,
to remove from it one of the ornate pins, its head carved from the horn of
kailiauk, that bound it.
Again a thong, this time that on her right wrist, prohibited, but only for
an instant, the movement, but inches from her hair.
She frowned. There was laughter.
At last, sometimes immediately permitted, sometimes not, she had removed the
pins from her hair. Her hair was beautiful, rich, long and black. As she knelt,
it fell back to her ankles.
Then, with her hands, she lifted the hair again back over her head, and then,
suddenly, her hands, by the thongs were pulled apart and her hair fell again
loose and rich over her body.
Now, angrily, struggling, she fought to lift her hair again but the thongs,
holding apart her hands, did not permit her to do so. She fought them. The
thongs would permit her only to wear her hair loosely.
Then, as though in terror and fury, as though she now first understood herself
in the snares of a slave, she leaped to her feet, fighting, to the music,
the thongs.
The dancing girls of Port Kar, I told myself, are the best on all Gor.
Dark and golden, shimmering, crying out, stamping, she danced, her thonged
beauty incandescent in the light of the torches and the frenzy of the slave
bells.
She turned and twisted and leaped, and sometimes seemed almost free, but was
always, by the dark thongs, held complete prisoner. Sometimes she would rush
upon one man or another, but the others would not permit her to reach him,
keeping her always beautiful female slave snared in her web of thongs. She
writhed and cried out, trying to force the thongs from her body, but could
not do so.
At last, bit by bit, as her fear and terror mounted, the men, fist by fist,
took up the slack in the thongs that tethered her, until suddenly, they swiftly
bound her hand and foot and lifted her over their heads, captured female slave,
displaying her bound arched body to the tables.
There were cries of pleasure from the tables, and much striking of the right
fist on the left shoulder.
She had been truly superb.
Then the men carried her before my table and held her bound before me. 'A
slave,' said one.
'Yes,' cried the girl, 'slave!'
The music finished with a clash.
The applause and cires were wild and loud.
I was much pleased."
- RAIDERS OF GOR Pg. 228 - 230
A Slave's Need Dance
"The naked slave girl, in her bells and jewels, writhed on the scarlet
tiles of the floor before us.
I turned away and gave my attention to the slave writhing on the tiles before
us.
She was performing a need dance, of a type not uncommon among Gorean female
slaves. Such a dance usually proceeds in clearly defined phrases, evident
not merely in the expressions and movements of the girl but in the nature
of the accompanying music. There are usually five phases to such a dance.
In the first phase the girl, dancing, feigns indifference to the presence
of men, before whom, as a slave, she must perform. In the second phase, for
she has not yet been raped, her distress and uneasiness, her restlessness,
her disturbance by her sexual urges, must become subtly more manifest. Here
it must be evident that she is beginning to feel her sexuality, and drives,
profoundly, and yet is struggling against them. Toward the end of this phase
it must become clear not only that she has sexual needs, and deep ones, but
that she is beginning to fear that she may not be, simply as she is, of sufficient
interest to men to obtain their satisfaction. Here, need, coupled with anxiety
and self-doubt, for she has not yet been seized by strong men, must become
clear. In the third phase of the dance she, in an almost ladylike fashion,
acknowledges herself defeated in her attempt to conceal her sexuality; she
then, again in an almost ladylike fashion, delicately but clearly, with restraint
but unmistakably, acknowledges, and publicly, before masters, that she has
sexual needs. Then, with smiles, and gestures, displaying herself, she makes
manifest her readiness for the service of men, her willingness, and her receptivity.
She invites them, so to speak to have her. But she has not yet been seized
by an arm or an ankle, or by her collar, a thumb hooked rudely under it, or
hair, and pulled from the floor. What if she is not sufficiently pleasing?
What if she is not to be fulfilled? What if she must continue to dance, alone,
unnoticed. At this point it becomes clear to her that it is by no means a
foregone conclusion that men will find her of interest, or that they will
see fit to satisy her. She must strive to be pleasing. If she is not good
enough she may be chained, unfilfilled, another night alone in the kennel.
There are always other girls. She must earn her rape. Too, if she should be
insufficiently pleasing consistently it is likely that she will be slain.
Goreans place few impediments in the way of liberation of a slave female's
sexuality. In this phase of the dance, then, shamelessly the woman dances
her need and, shamelessly, begs for her sexual satisfaction. The phase of
the dance is sometimes known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen. The fifth,
and final phase, of the dance, is far more dramatic and exciting. In this
phase the girl, overcome by sexual desire and terrified that she may not be
found sufficiently pleasing, clearly manifests, and utterly, that she is a
slave female. In this portion of the dance the girl is seldom on her feet.
Rather, sitting, rolling, and changing position, on her side, her back, her
belly, half kneeling, half sitting, kneeling, crawling, reaching out, bending
backwards, lying down, twisting with passion, gesturing to her body, presenting
it to masters for their inspection and interest, whimpering, moaning, crying
out, brazenly presenting herself as a slave, pleading for her rape, she writhes,
a piteous, begging, vulnerable, ready slave, a woman fit for and begging for
the touch of a master, a woman begging to become, at the least touch of her
master, a totally submitted slave. The fourth phase of the dance, as I have
mentioned, is sometimes known as the Heat of the Collared She-Sleen. This
portion of the dance, the fifth portion, is sometimes known as the Heat of
the Slave Girl.
The music ended with a swirl of sound and the girl, with a jangle of bells,
lay before the table of Policrates, whimpering, her hand extended. She lifted
her head. I read the unmistakable need in her eyes. She was indeed a slave
female.
'Master!' she whimpered. 'Please, Master.'
Policrates glanced at her. He had scarcely paid her attention in the dance."
- ROGUE OF GOR, Pg. 185 - 188